Under the Mistletoe
by Tanista2
Summary: Six women at Christmastime, six kisses under the mistletoe. Chronological vignettes of the season. (Ad Astra 'verse)
1. Catherine & Ernest (1944)

Catherine Langford's heard the rumors all over town. The war will end soon, they say.

After the success in Normandy the Allies have been steadily pushing their way through Western Europe, reclaiming it bit by bit from German occupation. Even Hitler's most recent offensive in the Ardennes has ultimately done little to stop their momentum.

It breaks her heart, to see so much life lost in this terrible conflict. On both sides. This must be the war to end all wars, surely.

Such news had done little to discourage her father, however. He's been busy all week, setting up meetings throughout the capitol with bigwigs from the War Department, seeking funding for his Gateway project. If he's persistent enough and word gets to the right set of ears he might even state his case to President Roosevelt himself, one day.

And Father's persistent, if nothing else. Ever since the Doorway to Heaven had been unearthed in Giza he's convinced humanity would someday reap the benefits, though its ultimate purpose remains unknown, for good or ill.

She remembers sitting on his lap as a little girl, playing with the golden necklace around her neck inscribed with the Eye of Ra, listening to him spin tales of Egyptian gods and goddesses. How she'd dreamed afterwards, of dancing with them among the pyramids and out to the stars.

Colleagues from the university had been invited over for the evening, along with uniformed officers from the Pentagon and government officials along with their wives. Their Georgetown house was filled for once with laughter and sparkling conversation instead of near-silence and scholarship.

Now almost everyone is gone, save for Father offering _aquavit_ and cigars in his study to two three-star generals and a State Department undersecretary. The living room's quiet after the party, the only sound the crackling of flames in the fireplace and the murmur of old familiar carols on the radio in the kitchen.

Her eyes go misty thinking of her mother, gone now for many years. Of the Christmas Eve feasts hosted for friends and family, the traditional dishes and desserts laid out on the table, the songs and games around the decorated tree, recreated just for the season.

She hopes there will always be a Christmas in one form or another, serving as a link from the present to both past and future.

A single candle on the mantle illuminates the living room as she reclines on the settee by the window. All the other townhouses on their street remain aglow, adorned with lighted candles in the windows and holly or evergreen wreaths on front doors.

Golden light spills onto fresh-fallen snow across the street as a door opens and discharges a couple. The man wraps a fur stole around the woman and playfully tucks a sprig of holly into her hatband, making her laugh as they head out into the night.

She smiles wistfully at the momentarily longing for a love of her own. Someone who would see her for herself, instead of merely an adjunct to her father's reputation.

"Catherine? What are you doing, sitting alone in the dark?"

Ernest stands in the entrance hallway, blinking at her in surprise. Scarf draped around his neck and overcoat halfway on, hat perched awkwardly on his head. Caught in the act.

"Nothing," she says as she rises and goes to him. "Just thinking of my mother. How she loved hosting parties like this over the holidays."

He smiles sadly. "Yes. Makes a nice change, doesn't it? The Professor hardly has anyone over the rest of the year. I'm the only one who's allowed to visit on a regular basis, it seems."

"Only because Sunday dinners would be lonely, without someone there to listen to my father expound upon his theories about the Doorway to Heaven."

"Not to mention give you an opportunity to burn the roast time and time again." He offers a rakish grin, humor sparkling in his eyes. She did not inherit her mother's gift for cooking.

She swats him gently on the arm. "Oh hush, you." Tidies him up, buttoning up his coat, straightening his hat. "There."

He reaches out, caressing her cheek. Her breath catches at the flame ignited by his touch. "Sweet Catherine."

Her hand covers his. "Dear Ernest." They stay like that for a timeless moment, until the old grandfather clock in the corner softly chimes the hour.

He finally clears his throat, stepping away to make adjustments to his scarf. "It's late," he murmurs. "I should go."

She catches sight of the sprig of pale-green, white-berried mistletoe, innocently hanging above them the whole time. An ancient tradition surrounds it, dating back to when the plant was considered sacred, prized for its magical healing properties.

On impulse she rises on tiptoe. A kiss for love and luck, between old friends.

His eyes widen. "What was that for?"

"For being here. For being you. Merry Christmas, Ernest."

"Merry Christmas, Catherine. Good night." He gently touches her cheek one last time, then leaves.

She returns to the settee by the window. Sits by the light of the single candle, watching him disappear into the dark.

Dreaming of what they might become to each other, someday.


	2. Ellen & John (1946)

Ellen Jackson's a small town girl at heart.

Mission City's usually enough for her, with its quaint streets and predictable personalities. Its simple, homespun ways.

But she wouldn't miss Christmas in Chicago for the world.

The big city's all flash and dazzle, bright lights and tall buildings. People of every shape and size on the streets, hustling and bustling with holiday preparations. Musicians playing familiar carols on every corner.

Excitement's in the very air, peace and prosperity mingled with a sense of relief. The war finally over, servicemen returning home to settle down and raise families. Get on with the business of living in a free world once again, as her father might say.

She stands on the sidelines, watching the others with a touch of envy as they effortlessly dance and carry on to jazzy versions of the old familiar carols. Their gaiety fuled by spiked glasses of eggnog and other alcoholic libations.

Her own cup is full of nonalcoholic mulled cider- all she'll allow herself to indulge in for the holiday, preferring to keep a clear head at all times. She's underage and from a dry town besides, even though Prohibition's long over. Old habits die hard in her hometown, though many secretly enjoy a glass of Betty Parker's moonshine every now and then.

Her best friend Audrey graduated early from high school, escaping the narrow confines of small-town life as soon as she could. Ellen doubts she has that kind of courage when it's her turn, though she's surprised even herself by accepting the offer to visit over Christmas vacation.

Audrey's now working in this very office building, as part of the secretarial pool. Practically had to drag Ellen here against her wishes in the hopes of, apparently, finding her a man.

("You need someone," she'd declared just the other day. "It's not right, a pretty girl like you playing spinster for the rest of your life."

"I don't need anyone. I learned during the war I can do very well without them, thank you very much."

Her friend cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "So did we all, kiddo. Doesn't mean we shouldn't enjoy them now they're back in circulation. Right?")

There are a awful lot of single men at this party, she realizes. The kind who want to get real close much too early for her taste. She doesn't want to earn a reputation for being easy so soon after arriving in the big city, so she gives them a wide berth.

The press of the crowd's too much to handle as it is. She 's in desperate need of fresh air and solitude.

An unlocked door leads to a terrace. Bitterly cold that December night, thanks to Arctic air blowing off Lake Michigan. But at least there's peace and quiet.

She shivers as she steps to the railing, rubbing her arms for warmth through the sleeves of her dress. Looks down at the street far below- and immediately wishes she hadn't. She's never been comfortable around heights.

"You better be careful, ma'am," a man drawls quietly out of the blue. "Wouldn't do for you to fall and hurt yourself."

"Who's there?" she demands. "Show yourself!"

"Sorry. Didn't mean to give you a fright." He steps forward out of the building's shadow, brown hair cut military-short and eyes the color of melted chocolate. An air of quiet scruff and confidence surrounds him, reminiscent of her father. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks," she replies shortly. Wouldn't do to admit weakness in front of a strange man no matter how handsome.

He joins her at the railing, staring out into the city. Not for the first time in her life she wishes she had a few extra inches of height, as he towers over her. "Quite a night, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

"First time in Chicago?"

"How can you tell?"

"I have my ways." A touch of mischief makes his eyes twinkle. Her heart skips a beat.

He holds out his hand. "John O'Neill."

"Ellen Jackson. Nice to meet you." There's a spark as she places her small hand in his.

"Likewise." He holds on, clearly not wanting to let go.

The wind picks up and she shivers again.

"Perhaps we ought to go inside," he suggests with a disarming grin. "If you're ready to face the world again, that is."

They have a nice time. They dance, and talk. She finds out he's a pilot, a Lieutenant in the Army Air Forces stationed at Scott Field. He in turn hears about her dreams of becoming a graphic designer, once she graduates high school next year.

John's witty, intelligent and charming to boot. Ellen's never felt this comfortable around a man before. It's a nice feeling.

And here she believed she didn't need anyone else.

Eventually they're the only ones left in the room, dancing close together with shadows and a few candles remaining lit for company. Finally John stops, staring intently down at her.

"Something wrong?"

"Just that I can't believe I've got the prettiest girl in the city right here in my arms."

She ducks her head, flushing. "Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls." She knows she's perfectly ordinary, what with her petite height, auburn hair and blue eyes (no glasses though, thank goodness).

"No, I don't," he says soberly. "I've never met anyone like you before."

Suddenly she finds herself the recipient of a rather chaste kiss. She raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

He grins, pointing to a sprig of mistletoe well above their heads (of course he'd be the one to notice). "It's the tradition, you know."

"An odd one, don't you think? I wonder where it comes from."

"Maybe we should find out together. Say tomorrow, at the Public Library?"

Not exactly her idea of a first date, but still...

"I'd like that," she finds herself saying.

"Good. May I escort you back to your friend's apartment?"

"You may," she replies, accepting his arm in turn.

The war's over, after all. Anything can happen.

Even falling in love.


	3. Allison & Michael (1968)

Christmas in the Pacific Northwest's nothing like back in Minnesota. More rain than ice and snow.

For which Allison Grahme is quite grateful.

She recalls bitterly cold winters, well below freezing even into late February. White puffs of air escaping with every breath as she heads outside with her brothers, to school or to play. The warmth of the coffee shop when they return, holiday cookies and her mother making the special cocoa just for them, dark and rich and bittersweet.

A tear drifts down her cheek and she frowns. She's getting sentimental for crying out loud, though whether it's because of the season or her hormones acting up she can't decide.

She shivers a bit, pulling a knitted afghan over her shoulders. Is it normal to feel cold so often during a pregnancy? She really must ask the doctor at the next prenatal checkup.

The announcer on the radio begins reading the hourly newscast, more and more depressing with every headline. With a grimace Allison turns it off.

Sometimes it seems the war will never end.

Even her brothers are getting into the action next year, to her dismay. Jack's already announced his intention to follow in their biological father's footsteps by enrolling in the Air Force Academy. And her reliable gut feeling tells her Mac will undoubtedly be drafted for Vietnam if he doesn't escape into Canada like Jack Dalton, his canny and slightly wacko best friend.

There are times she wonders if it's right to bring new life into the world, what with things in so much turmoil. Wars and corruption and dear Dr. King assassinated earlier this year. She and her husband have participated in their full share of nonviolence demonstrations in favor of civil rights and against Vietnam, but lately she feels helpless in the face of it all. Standing up against those determined to bring the country down is a tough job, especially for two university students with a baby on the way.

"Allison?"

"I'm in here."

Michael comes into their room- tall and handsome, with sandy-brown hair and hazel eyes that crinkle in the corners when he smiles. "Hi, sweetheart," he says in a warm, rich voice which never fails to send a thrill through her body. "How's everything?"

"Okay, I guess," she says with a sigh. "I'm getting real tired of being a walking watermelon, I can tell you that." She winces at the sudden jolt from within. "Ouch, that hurts."

He frowns in concern. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah. For the past couple of days our son's been getting kinda restless, that's all. Just little kicks here and there. Guess he's anxious to meet his dad."

He chuckles, gently placing a hand on the dress covering her expanded belly. "C'mon now, kiddo. Be cool. I'm really looking forward to seeing you too, but there's no reason to take it out on your mom. Hang loose, okay?"

Abruptly the kicking stops.

Allison chuckles. "Not even born and already paying attention to you."

"I should hope so, considering his upbringing."

The quip brings a smile to her face, but she thinks of the news and it soon fades. Her eyes fill up with tears, trickling down her face.

"Hey-" Michael turns to her with an anxious expression. "What's wrong, Allie? Something I said?"

She can only shake her head, unable to answer for the sobs forming in her throat.

Without another word he reaches over and pulls her against him. "Hush now," he soothes. "It'll be okay. I'm here."

"Oh Mike," she sobs against him. "I'm so scared sometimes. What are we doing? There's no peace in the world, only hatred and violence and fear. What right do we have, bringing him into such an awful mess?"

"We're doing what we can, sweetheart. Teach our son and any other kids that follow to be good people. To help their fellow human beings. To stand up for what's right and strive to make the world a better place no matter what. I know things look bleak right now but that'll change, slowly but surely. Trust me. Good will come of our efforts, you'll see. "

She sniffs, wiping her face against his shirt. "I wish I could believe you."

"I know it's hard. Just believe that I love you and our son, so very much."

"I do. Love you, too."

He comforts her a while longer, gently stroking her hair. "Feel better yet?"

"I...I think so."

"Good." He suddenly grins at her, in the impish way she loves. Half of the time utterly serious, the other half completely playful. They've only been married little more than a year and he still fascinates her, never knowing which side he'll reveal next. "Got something to show you. Perk you right up."

"What is it?"

Without saying another word he leads her to the communal living room, stopping right below the archway dividing it from the dining area.

It's a pretty cozy for a commune, here on Queen Anne Hill. A Douglas Fir decorated with handcrafted ornaments dominates one corner, complete with presents under the tree for everyone, plus extra ones tagged especially for Baby Boy Grahme. A fire crackles cheerfully in the hearth.

Boughs of holly and evergreens adorn windowsills and doorways, save for one particular spot right above them, sporting the traditional sprig of mistletoe.

Michael turns to her, tenderly cradles her face in his hands. "It's Christmas, remember? A yearly reminder there's still good in the world, if you know where to look. And we're a part of that search, you and me and any children we have. Remember that." He bends and touches his lips to hers, warm and passionate and full of promise.

Tears come to her eyes once more, but this time for joy instead of fear. The psychologist-in-training in her knows it's completely artificial- the accumulation and practice of centuries-old traditions, nothing more. But how can she not feel better, with such beauty everywhere and her husband regarding her with so much love and confidence in his eyes?

Maybe there's hope for the world yet.

"Thanks, Mike. I needed that."

"You're welcome, Allie. Let's sit down for a while, huh?"

He leads her to the couch. She settles herself against him as he slips an arm around her, loving and supporting as always. Kind, gentle and above all wise. Her eyes close, hearing the soothing old familiar carols playing on the radio and feeling much more at peace.

Her unborn son starts kicking again but she's not worried. He'll be born soon, if the increasing activity is any indication. Perhaps even before New Year's.

Which gives Allison a brilliant idea for his first name.

And really, what else could it be at this time of the year but Chris?


	4. Sam & Jack (1999)

Christmas Eve on another planet.

Sam Carter's thinking seriously of killing whomever scheduled this recon mission to take place on a major holiday.

Hardly a festive atmosphere, either. Nothing but dense forest for miles around, only the warm glow of their campfire keeping away the nocturnal creatures she hears sniffling around their perimeter every now and then.

Well, that and their P90s.

She stares out into the darkness, blowing and rubbing her hands together to keep them warm. Wishes she'd thought of tucking a pair of gloves into her tac vest beforehand, like she does a spare tampon and a couple Midol for her monthly cramps. Just in case.

With a rueful chuckle she recalls the absolute incomprehension and horror on her teammates' faces- even perfectly stoic Teal'c- the first time her period coincided with a mission. Three of the bravest men she knows, and they get all flustered in the face of a perfectly normal function of her body.

What irritated her more was the way they had treated her for a while afterwards, though she'd never admit it to their faces. Practically patronizing.

Teal'c insisted on doing all the heavy lifting in spite of her protests.

Daniel, the poor sweet guy, couldn't stop blushing whenever he spoke to her.

Even the Colonel had been rendered speechless for once, at a loss for a suitable quip to cover his embarrassment. And he'd been married before, too.

In time they got used to it, but honestly she thought they'd know better from the start, considering.

One of those million little ironies of being a woman in the military.

A rustle in the nearby bushes sets Sam immediately on edge. She gives herself a mental shake.

Enough brooding. Time to focus on the here and now.

She lifts her weapon and aims the targeting light into the dark. Some small kind of mammal scurries away from the bright light and she sighs, shaking her head.

At ease Sammy, she tells herself. Think of something relaxing, like tensor calculus. Or Christmas carols.

Yet instead of _Silent Night_ there's this song that keeps playing in her head over and over. On the radio a lot, when they'd taken that accidental trip through the Gate back to 1969: _California dreaming, on such a winter's day..._

Which only reminds her, of course, that she isn't anywhere near the Golden State right now.

She really ought to put in for leave when they get back to base. Fly out to San Diego for New Year's, catch up with Mark and his family. Stretch out on the beach for a decent tan, get in some surfing, ride the Indian up I-5 to visit with her old friend Jeanette who's living in Dana Point with her girlfriend.

Yeah, Southern California sounds real nice on a chilly night like this- warmth and palm trees, sun and sparking blue ocean.

She checks the time. Two hours to go on her watch, sitting here alone in the cold and dark, away from her cozy sleeping bag.

God, she wishes it were over already.

A gentle hand settles on her shoulder. Sam swings her P90 in the intruder's direction.

"Whoa, now." O'Neill holds up his hands in placation. "Stand down, Carter. It's just me."

"Yes, sir. Sorry. Guess the dark's got me a bit more jumpy than usual."

"Understood. But take it easy, all the same." He adjusts his cap, peering around into the dark. "Some Christmas Eve for us, huh? Bet you wish you were with family instead."

"To be honest sir, I do. I'd love to visit my brother, now that our relationship's improved. Can't wait to see my niece and nephew again, either."

"Always good to connect with family. I can relate."

She sneaks a glance at him, surprised by the unexpected warmth in his voice. An introspective look in his eyes, one she's rarely privileged to see.

They've been teammates for over two years now yet she knows very little about the Colonel, apart from his relationship with his ex-wife Sara and the son they lost. He tends to keep most things close to the vest anyway, though she'd never dream of prying into her CO's personal life.

"You're bursting with curiosity, aren't ya?" Amusement plain in his Midwestern drawl. "I know what you're dying to ask, so fire away."

Even with his permission she's reluctant.

He sighs. "Go ahead, Carter. I won't bite your head off."

Well, then. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Yeah. One each. He's living, she's been dead a while. Car crash."

"Sorry to hear that, sir. Any nephews or nieces?"

"Also one of each. My sister's kids, actually. He died in the same car crash. She's staying with my brother. Real sweetheart. Smart as a whip, too." A small, fond smile swiftly crosses his face before resuming its usual stoicism. "Off the record, Carter. Don't go blabbing any of this to Daniel or Teal'c, okay? I like to keep an air of mystery around them." He says it in an arch manner but she can hear the fear in his voice, of already giving away too much.

"Understood, sir," she says quickly.

"Good. I-" He cocks his head, his attention caught by something way over hers.

Sam cranes her neck upwards, her own light catching a sprig of pale green with white berries, attached to the bark of a nearby tree.

Interesting. Perhaps it serves the same parasitic function as mistletoe does back on Earth.

There's an odd holiday tradition concerning that very plant, too.

The Colonel's eyes- like melted chocolate, she thinks- fall back down to her. Purses his lips in a speculative manner.

Then without warning he bends towards her in a surprise ambush-

-to kiss her on the cheek.

Perfectly chaste. Even sweet, in a way.

She's stunned, as if he'd hit her instead with a zat.

"Go get some shut-eye, Carter," he says gently. "Stay warm. I'll cover the rest of your watch."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"No problem. Oh, and Carter?"

"Sir?"

A slow wink. "Merry Christmas."

"Um, same to you, sir." She shakes her head in wonder as she heads for her tent. Swears she can still feel that spot on her cheek tingling.

Janet would tell her it's physiologically impossible, of course.

And yet.

Her CO kissed her. Right there, under alien mistletoe.

Holy Hannah.

Okay, so more like a little peck than an actual, full-blown kiss. But a tradition's a tradition, right?

There's a spark between them, Sam's been sure for a while now. As sure as she is about the equations neatly describing the Stargate's wormhole.

Perhaps it's time to consider a different set of equations, one describing their feelings for each other.

Granted they can never, ever act on it.

But still. It's nice to know.

She can live with that.


	5. Janet & Mac (2000)

The end of the world may be raging outside the mountain but within everything's warm and cozy for the holiday.

Just as Janet Fraiser likes it this time of the year.

Her family may be from sturdy Scottish stock but she's never really liked the cold. Always preferred to be inside than out, enjoying the comfy benefits.

The last Christmas on Old Earth. Hard to imagine the base will be abandoned in a week's time.

The civilian refugees had their own party yesterday, not long after the General revealed the existence of the Stargate and the settlement on New Earth. Complete with decorated fake tree, old familiar carols playing on the PA, cookies and punch for all.

Even a visit from Hammond playing Santa, at his request no less. One little girl on his knee asked him how he was going to find them next year, to fill their stockings.

"Why, I have a magic ship powered by reindeer, of course," was his jovial reply. "And I know the coordinates of every planet in the galaxy with good girls and boys. So don't worry, sweetheart. I'll find you wherever you are."

Starting tomorrow they're on their way to their new home, to be followed by everyone else come Zero Hour.

Janet smiles at the memory of the General in red suit, white beard and all. She stopped literally believing in Santa Claus when she was a kid, but she appreciates the concept nonetheless, as an embodiment of all that is good about the season. Generosity without conditions (the naughty or nice issue notwithstanding). Kindness and compassion, peace and goodwill to all. Values she fervently hopes will be upheld in their new home.

They've got a second chance, a fresh start. Better not blow it.

Jack's appropriated one of the VIP suites on Level 25 (the privileges of rank) for his team's use, which these days includes Mac, Becky and Janet herself, along with Cassie. A movie marathon with only the original classics: _Miracle on 34th Street, It's a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Carol, Holiday Inn, Meet Me In St. Louis._

Jack's slouching in one of the armchairs, sulking a little. He wanted to include _Die Hard, _of all things. "It's a Christmas movie," he whines.

"No, it isn't," Becky insists. Always anxious to set the record straight, according to Mac. "It's an action movie which happens to take place on Christmas Eve. That most certainly does _not_ make it a holiday classic."

"It does too," he insists.

"Does not."

"Help me out here, willya Danny?"

"Sorry Jack," he says with a chuckle. "I'm with Becky on this one. Pure coincidence."

(She's sitting beside Daniel on the couch. At his words she ducks her head, blushing. Got it bad for him, Janet can tell.)

"Teal'c? You got my six, right?"

"I do not, O'Neill. Your _che'sula_ is indeed correct."

"Carter?"

"Sorry, sir," she says brightly. "Can't back you this time."

"Janet, c'mon. You've got a secret crush on Bruce Willis, I know you do."

She mimes zipping her lip.

Cassie just giggles.

"For crying out loud. Whatever happened to team loyalty, huh?"

Mac throws popcorn at him. "Forget it, Jack. You're outvoted."

His twin grumbles a bit but surrenders with good grace. It's Christmas, after all.

Later between movies Mac fidgets on the couch, inadvertently nudging Becky closer against Daniel, who makes no objection but smiles and slips an arm around her shoulders. She blushes but makes no move to pull away.

In the other direction Jack and Sam keep trading long, lingering looks, when they think no one's paying attention. Too bad regulations are getting in the way of their budding romance.

Yep, love is definitely in the air. Or in the works, anyway.

As for whom she'd like to kiss under the mistletoe-

Mac stands, stretches. "Think I'll go for a walk. You guys start the next one without me, okay?"

"I'll come with," Janet says, on impulse.

"Sure, doc. Grateful for the company."

They meander through the corridors and down stairs, Mac deliberately shortening his long strides for her sake. He's so thoughtful like that.

The Gate sits dormant for once, a welcome break from the hustle and bustle of preparations for settlement. The room surprisingly empty at the moment, personnel celebrating at their own private gatherings.

Some wit's attached a sprig of mistletoe to the top of the Gate's inside ring, probably Siler or another one of the technicians. It'll be obliterated the next time the wormhole's activated, of course.

"Weird tradition, isn't it," Mac comments. "Kissing under what's basically a parasitic plant."

Janet chuckles. "Only you would think that. Well, you and Sam. Born scientists."

"Doesn't mean I don't appreciate the sentiment behind it, though. A kiss for luck, and love."

"Love..." she echoes., staring up at the innocuous plant. "That's what the holiday's about, for me. Love for friends and family. It's what keeps us going, even when all hope is gone."

"I think so, too." He says it softly, his eyes searching her face. Takes a hesitant step forward, giving her enough time to back away if she wishes.

Which she doesn't, of course. She's been waiting for this moment for months.

Janet's never believed in love at first sight, not even with her ex-husband. But then Mac came into her life, melted chocolate eyes and disarming grins and, well...

She deliberately steps closer to him, tilting her chin up for his kiss.

He blinks, a little startled by her assertiveness but quickly recovers, bending to gently cover her lips with his. A flame through her body at the kiss deepens, the promise of more to come if she can persuade him to take the chance.

All the same she ought to go slow, if he's anything like his brother. She's certain the outcome will be well worth it. Such a kind, gentle, decent man, he deserves to have love in his life.

And so does she.

Not to mention Cassie adores him, another plus in her book.

When the kiss ends they continue to hold each other, enjoying the closeness.

"Merry Christmas, Jan."

"Merry Christmas, Mac."

"Um, Dr. Fraiser? MacGyver?" Sergeant Harriman's voice on the PA shatters the spell. "You, um, might want to move off the ramp soon. We're expecting a scheduled call from Alpha Base any minute now."

Mac waves to him. "Will do, Walter. Thanks."

Janet snickers. "We'd better head back to the room anyway, before the others send out a search party."

"Guess so." He grins, offering his arm with a flourish. "Milady?"

She takes it, bestowing on him a brilliant smile. "Why thank you, kind sir."

It's the start of something beautiful, she's sure.


	6. Becky & Daniel (Year 1)

It's not mistletoe. Not even close.

Becky Grahme's not even sure it's in a similar phylum, though Kate Brown in Botany insists it serves a function similar to the Old Earth plant. Pale lavender with blue berries, found on what appears to be _Quercus Robur_ if you squint, with cyan leaves shading to violet in autumn.

Seems like everything on the planet resembles something from Old Earth if you stare at it long enough.

The refectory's decked out in boughs of everbluegreens, twinkling lights and improvised ornaments (origami cranes from recycled paper, spare electrical parts on wires) adorning a dark blue spruce in the corner. The carols on the PA are familiar enough, thanks to Walter and his CD collection. A fire snaps, crackles and pops to itself in the massive stone fireplace.

Not much merriment in the air, however. Judging by the people slumping at the tables, sipping listlessly at cups of punch or the coffee-chocolate-cinnamon beverage equivalent she calls _klah_.

A collective sense of homesickness is pervading the entire settlement this year. Celebrating Christmas only adds to the dismal feeling, instead of alleviating it.

Which may be part of the problem. People can't help making comparisons, seeking familiarity and reassurance in an alien world.

And maybe that makes sense. But this is where their lives are now, so they'll simply have to make the most of it.

Looking back instead of moving forward. Becky knows firsthand how useless it is.

Witnessing the end of the world can do that to a person.

Maybe it's time for a change. Go back to basics, remove all the accumulated trappings from the season. Celebrate for what it truly is, light returning to the world out of the endless dark.

There are those in the settlement who'd back her up, convinced beyond logic she's some kind of prophet sent to guide them on the right path. Not that she wants to get involved with that bunch by any means.

Bleah. Enough of this.

She pulls her coat on, heads out into the chilly night. Snow crunches on the ground under her boots as she crosses the wide square of the SGC compound. The night has a density to it, reminding her of December nights as a kid, though Oregon had considerably more rain than the Midwest winters of her mom and uncles' childhoods.

Los Angeles on the whole had neither, the occasional freak storm notwithstanding. It always seemed strange to her, to be singing _and may all your Christmases be white_ at shopping mall choir performances, with everyone walking around in shorts, shirtsleeves and sunglasses.

Snow swirls as the wind picks up. Becky shivers, even under layers of clothing and her SGC-issued parka. She hates being cold.

The lab's window shows the light of a single candle, an indistinct figure just inside. She frowns. Never a threat of theft these days, but it doesn't hurt to investigate nonetheless.

Daniel's reading by the window, handsome features outlined half in the glow of the candlelight, half in lavender moonlight. Too engrossed in his book to notice her. Above him hangs one of those sprigs of ersatz mistletoe, probably hung there by Jack in a fit of holiday mischief.

Her lips curve up in a wicked smile as she studies her beloved. Perfect time for an ambush.

She's learned something about stealth from both her uncles. Quiet steps to his chair. Quick, decisive movements- a single finger tilting up his chin, a thorough kiss on those delectable lips.

Without thinking he returns it, one hand reaching to cradle the back of her head, the other still holding onto the book. Then pulls back, blinking at her in faint surprise. "Oh. Hey."

"Hey yourself. What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to enjoy some peace and quiet before going to the party."

"Such as it is," she sighs. "No one's in much of a celebrating mood tonight, it seems."

"That won't be the case by next year. Takes time for anyone to get used to change. As we both know well."

"True."

"Come and join me." He sets the book aside and holds out a hand.

She takes it, sliding right onto his lap. Fitting together so easily, like they were made for each other. Rests her head against his shoulder, reassured by his steady heartbeat he's alive and well.

There had been a brief scare a few months back, with a gut feeling something really bad had happened to him on P2S-4C3, aka Kelowna. But nothing did and he returned to her safe and sound. The only time so far her usually reliable intuition's gotten it wrong.

His lips brush against her hair. "Penny for your thoughts."

"Just about mistletoe, and a story I once told Baldur about his mythical namesake when I was on the ship. A perfectly innocuous plant turned into a deadly weapon."

"Well, it did have a place in Old Norse beliefs, due to that myth. Regarded as sacred by the Druids in England as well. Considered to have all sorts of miraculous qualities, actually."

"So, innocent-looking yet possessing great powers."

"Uh-huh. Reminds me of someone I know."

Becky groans, rolling her eyes. "Don't you start. Just the thought of anyone worshiping me as some sort of prophet makes me sick to my stomach. Bad enough they're actively seeking my opinion for things I know nothing about whatsoever. All I did was bear Witness to the end of the world, for god's sake. Didn't make me any sort of messiah or expert."

Daniel's mouth curves up in a rueful smile. "Believe me, I know the feeling. After we defeated Ra and I stayed behind they hailed me as the savior of Abdyos. Had to stop everyone from bowing to me all the time. Still-" He cocks his head, touch of mischief making his beautiful blue eyes sparkle. "I wouldn't mind worshiping _you_ any day. Starting with every inch of your delectable body."

She ducks her head, feeling her cheeks flush crimson. "God. You're nuts, you know that?"

"So I've been told. Mostly by Jack."

"Somehow I'm not surprised. Pot calling kettle, and all that."

Voices outside the window, singing Christmas carols only slightly off-key. She smiles faintly. "What do you know. The Christmas spirit's alive and well after all."

"Sure sounds like it. Let's go outside and join them." Turns her face to meet his, gently stroking along her cheek. Brings her closer for a slow, tender kiss full of warmth. "Merry Christmas, hummingbird. Love you."

"Merry Christmas, raven. Love you too."

He blows out the candle, offers his arm. "Shall we?"

She takes it, grinning. "Why not?"

They head out the door, leaving the alien mistletoe to hang by itself in solitary splendor as they join the carolers.

No matter what form the holiday might take in the future on this new world, Becky thinks, it should always remain this celebration of light and song in the midst of darkness.

Of beauty and peace and goodwill.

Of laughter and heartwarming joy with friends and families of all kinds.

Of hope for a better life in the coming year.

Of traditions linking the present to the past and the future.

Of kissing a loved one under the mistletoe.

* * *

_References to, of course, Stargate the movie and S2 E21, 1969. _

_Wishing everyone the happiest of holidays and a new year full of peace, prosperity and harmony._


End file.
